Chapter Text
I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and turned to look at Carlton’s sleeping body, his bare back curled up on the other side of our bed. I leant over to kiss him on the cheek and left the bed, pulling on a shirt lying on my desk chair. The shirt must have been one of Carlton’s. It was too tight on my arms and cropped uncomfortably just above the waistband of my pants. Whatever. Lazily, I slumped my way into the kitchen. Empty bottles and cigarette packets lay everywhere, untouched remnants of Carlton’s dudebro watch party no doubt. Not that I’d been allowed to come home while his ‘friends’ were here. The stench of alcohol and cigarettes and oh God is that weed? Alcohol I could handle. Cigarettes I could handle. But weed? I sighed unhappily, opening a cupboard to take out a half-empty box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, pouring it into a chipped bowl that came discounted at Sears, and went to sit on the sofa, pushing a few bottles out my way. This is my life now, I thought to myself, broken, discounted bowls and a house that smells like alcohol.
A sudden clatter drove me from my thoughts. The mailbox. Only one letter lay on the floor by the door. Probably just a bill. Absent-mindedly, I flipped it over. The letter was addressed to me. That was a shock. The apartment’s under Carlton’s name so why a bill would be addressed to me I have no idea. I pulled open the envelope and a card fell out. On the front was a child’s crayon drawing of a knight and…hang on. That’s Will the Wise. How the hell? I opened the card, smiling a little in the confusion. It’s nice to feel…something. I opened the card.
Dear Will,
HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!
Oh. Right. It’s my birthday.
I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday I guess. Sorry the drawing’s so terrible. I’m nowhere near as good as you and I didn’t think it would mean as much if I got someone else to draw it. The little heart above them was Holly though. She asks when you’ll be back. She wants more drawing lessons and wants you to help her write a campaign for DnD. I was showing her all our old ones and she really loved that one you wrote about The Owlbear when we were kids. Way more than all the ones I wrote. Nancy says hi as well. And my mom. They want to know when you’ll be back. Even if you don’t want to go back to Hawkins, we should try to meet up soon. I miss you.
-Mike.
Something swarmed in my stomach as I read and reread the card. I heard footsteps behind me and closed the card. For some reason, the card felt like lead weight in my hands and I didn’t want Carlton to see it. He wrapped an arm around me, fingers teasing at the bare skin of my waist. I fought the urge to shove his hand away, his cold fingers reminding me so painfully of the freezing, wispy tendrils of- Will. Stop. You’re with Carlton. Your boyfriend. He began to kiss my neck, his lips pressing up and down my skin. “Happy birthday babe.” He whispered as his mouth reached my ear. When I didn’t reply, he stopped, opening his eyes and looking at me. His hand moved from my waist, and held onto the card. “What’s this babe?” His voice was lazy, sluggish, hints of old alcohol on his breath. I searched my mind rapidly for an excuse. “It’s um-a birthday card-from my mom.” I muttered. Carlton took the card from my hand and opened it. Shit. I turned to watch him read it, trying to gauge his reaction.
“Who’s Holly? Since when did you have a sister? Or is she the secret girlfriend?” He joked, scratching at his bare stomach. “I have a sister.” I said, hearing the edge come into my voice. “Oh yeah. That Jane girl. My bad babe.” He read the rest of the card in silence, pausing aimlessly to scratch his balls. He seemed to reread the card after finishing. Of course. He read it from the perspective of my mom. And then from Mike. He nodded slowly, letting the card drop from his hand. “Who’s Mike?” He asked. His voice wasn’t raised, or angry, like I’d assumed. It was calm, and soft. I looked at him silently, thinking of a lie. “He’s um-” “Don’t fucking lie to me Will. Who the fuck is Mike?” Now he was yelling. I’d only ever seen him like this once before.
We’d been out and he’d gotten drunk, like normal. He was probably stoned as well. Couldn’t walk straight. I’d carried him home. We’d gotten in and he’d started yelling at me. What if someone had seen me carrying him? Realised we were together? It was fine for me because everyone expected a guy who went to art school to be a faggot but he couldn’t have that. He’d be outed. Lose his scholarship. And then he hit me. And then he apologised to me. And then he fucked me. Like that made the whole world okay. I should’ve left. But I didn’t. Art school is already costing my mom so much. We can’t afford somewhere for me to stay as well. With Carlton I had a place to stay. “Will. Who. The fuck. Is. Mike.” Carlton yelled again, jaw clenched. “He’s my friend.” I yelled back. “Then why does he want to fucking meet up with you?” Carlton said, taking a step toward me, backing me toward the door. I moved my hand slowly towards the door handle so he wouldn’t see. “Why does he fucking miss you?” Carlton raised his fist to hit me. Just as his fist came down, I yanked on the door handle, opening it and running out, slamming it behind me. I heard his fist smash down on the wood. I kept running.